


Falls

by TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain



Series: 12 Days of Tomarrymortmas [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:49:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain/pseuds/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain
Summary: "It's been 10 years, 7 months, and 29 days."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: 12 Days of Tomarrymortmas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057367
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82





	Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Not another event hosted by me. Not that. Never.
> 
> WELCOME TO THE START OF:
> 
> 12 DAYS OF TOMARRYMORTMAS
> 
> On the first day of Tomarrymortmas my prompt generator gave to me: Falls

Harry's not one to drink.

It's rare if he ever does, not by any active avoidance on his part, or stern lectures from anyone else's; the opportunity only seldom arises. They are limited to large gatherings like celebrations or holidays. Or they are saved for intimate moments— private dinners, or mourning.

And true to this, Harry, as he sits alone in a place Hermione proudly calls his study, (and to annoy her— a place Ron proudly calls his man-cave); he cradles a tall glass of mulled wine.

It's something new and different, a warm red garnished with orange peel and star anise, lovingly prepared for Harry by Kreature. Even after the many insistences that it wasn't necessary.

The warmth of the drink seems to make the rest of the room colder in comparison, and not just influenced by the snow gathering on his windowsill. The room's shadows loom taller than usual, move in ways he's never seen before, gather in shapes too close to human for comfort. It makes Harry pull his legs up against his chest to leach a little more of the heat steaming from his glass, a beacon of comfort to chase his paranoia away.

He glances at the clock, a minute till midnight.

Harry sighs, he doesn't know what this accomplishes. It's the same every year, and nothing changes. There is no closure, no reply. It ends as it always begins, with Harry, a drink, and his thoughts.

His thoughts. Harry's eyes drift to the time once more, and he inhales the spiced scent of his wine as the clock ticks to midnight.

He lifts the mulled drink carefully out of his lap, the loss of its heat suddenly making him shiver; he cants it to the empty air.

Harry hesitates, wonders if he should say something different this year, but ultimately sticks with his tried and true, "Happy birthday, Tom Riddle."

The first and only sip is bitter. It always is.

He continues, "It's been 10 years, 7 months, and 29 days." The glass dully taps the top of his desk. Harry stretches it further away from himself, a small tradition between him and the walls. It only seems respectful, Harry thinks. To share. To offer.

"I'm 28 now," Harry says as he picks at his pilling pyjama bottoms. "You'd be ancient right about now— 92, I think." Harry knows.

Harry knows because he's done this every year. Even the first year. Though, that year was less careful words and remembrance, and more damp jeans and screams at the night sky.

A large icicle snaps and falls outside his window. He wonders if it landed in one piece on the powdery snow below or if it's shattered into tens or hundreds of small pieces.

He takes it as a sign and bites away a smile, "Okay, okay. Not ancient. Certainly getting up there though."

Time trickles by like this, slow and quiet. Whispered words into a dark room of anything Harry can think up; information of everything no matter how benign.

These yearly moments have become more than mourning. They are a comfort and treasured routine. He's still mad, he's still hurting. Nothing has changed, loved ones won't come back. But there is peace in this. Harry is often disquieted by the thought.

By the time he's run out of words to speak and glances back at the clock, it's 5am.

Harry considers floo calling out this year, the department could hold its own just one day. But some minutes tick by and eventually Harry untucks himself from his chair and stretches out the ache in his knees and back.

He shakes out the sleepy tingles from his right foot and pauses a moment in the silence of this morning. He admires the gentle blue glow from the rising sun and the heavy feeling that only comes from freshly fallen snow and a first-light chill.

He stands still just like that, a little while longer.

With a deep inhale, Harry breaks, "Well, this is good morning, Tom. I'll talk with you next year, thank you for listening."

Harry's steps a barely-there-pad across the wooden floor, the door creaks shut when he exits.

As the sun grows higher in the sky, the cold dissipates slightly, and shadows fade back to their perfectly normal corners— all but one.

It drifts carefully to Harry's desk, stands where Harry stood for a moment, and dissolves away in now blinding sunlight.

And when Kreature returns for Harry's wine glass, as always, it is empty.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have like 300 WIPs and yet I pull shit like this out of nowhere I'm so sorry
> 
> Find me on Tumblr (I live here): [@TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain](https://tomarryherewewhoaagain.tumblr.com/)  
> Or on Discord: [The Room of Requirement](https://discord.gg/2suak9y)  
> 


End file.
